Sunglasses and Cologne

The sun was high in the clear blue sky. A dry California breeze tugged at her windbreaker as she entered the eyeglasses parlor to browse the sunglasses. A dark scarf doing well to cover her strawberry blonde hair, small spikes could still be seen peeking out the edges. Rows upon rows of different kinds and styles of shades was almost overwhelming. Danika pulled off a large set off the rack and placed them on her face.
She pouted out her lips as she looked in the mirror. The shades did well to obscure her face, but not good enough. Her lithe figure slouched, replacing them with another pair of reflective sunglasses. Dani sighed as she gently placed them back on the display. She checked her six by turning the mirror slightly to the left, her firearm weighted on her hip, but deftly hidden by her jacket and shoulder bag.

She exhaled again, but this time with relief. She was the only one in the store besides the clerk, a tall, dark skinned man who wore too many ruffles, and was drenched in Armani Acqua Di Gio. However, he didn’t stop staring at her. Dani had to make a quick decision, before he had a chance to come onto her. She heard him creep from behind the counter, trying to act natural as he slunk up behind her. His cologne made her inwardly gag.

“Didn’t I see you in here yesterday?” He asked, his breath rank with cigarettes, just adding to his natural charm. Danika paused in her perusing.
“Yesterday?” A tingle on the back of her neck was her only warning. Shit. She quickly backed away from the clerk, avoiding contact at all costs.

Glasses shattered on the tiles, chunks of floor crumbling at her feet. A piece of the nearby shelf clattered on the ground. A large hole in the ground, about a foot in diameter, sat where she had stood. Danika quickly placed the sunglasses she was holding back on what remained of the shelf beside her, pulling her scarf across her face. The clerk, now wearing a garish orange flannel, shouted after her as she rushed out. Flustered, she ran to find a newspaper. Quickly rushing past the groups of people staring at their phones, and those that looked up from their technology paid her no heed. Picking up the Times out of a trash bin, she scoured it for the date.
March 23rd.
“Double shit,” she repeated, frustratingly stuffed the paper back into the trash. She looked at the sky. The sun was low in the west. Dani tightened the scarf around her head, determined to remain anonymous. She could hear distant police sirens, and the loud mewing of stray cats.
Lucky for me, L.A. is a big city.
Her denim shorts were covered with dust, again. Probably from the incident in the sunglasses shop. Dani tried her best to brush off most of it as she sped walked up Burton Way.

Her black shoulder bag bounced uncomfortably against her hip, as it was hitting her gun. She was now entering Beverly Hills, her hands firmly in her pockets. Danika turned down Santa Monica Blvd. The lights of the high life glittering in her brown eyes, blinding her slightly. People passing by her in ridiculous outfits, and much to Dani’s relief, not noticing her.